The Distant Ghost
The air in the sub-basement of the Halcyon Textile Mill was thick, a dense, grey soup of particulate matter and stale cigarette smoke that coated the back of your throat with a gritty, metallic taste. You sat at the heavy steel desk, the surface cold against your palms, listening to the rhythmic, hypnotic thump of the looms above you, a mechanical heartbeat that had regulated your life for the...
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